


i love you so much (but not that way)

by dinomight



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Caduceus Clay, Asexual Character, Asexual Fjord (Critical Role), Asexuality, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Fjord (Critical Role) Has Issues, Gen, Internalized Acephobia, Mildly Dubious Consent, asexual characters written by an asexual author, avantika and the rest of the m9 are mostly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 00:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18354857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinomight/pseuds/dinomight
Summary: The bottle spins and spins and spins, a blur of grimy glass. As it slows, Fjord feels his chest get tighter and tighter, like someone is squeezing the life out of him. Please, please don’t, he begs mentally, pleading with whoever is listening, but it doesn’t work. The bottle stops, pointed right at him, and now Kyla is smiling, looking at him expectedly. He can’t move, cheeks on fire and eyes wide with panic.“Poor Kyla,” someone mutters.(Or: an exploration of Fjord and his (a)sexuality.)





	i love you so much (but not that way)

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a simple conversation between ace Fjord and ace Caduceus and then turned into more. I don't know why I'm even surprised at this point. Anyways, this was partially inspired by my own experiences, the experiences shared by the community as a whole, and of course by the lovely people who share their ace headcanons over on Tumblr.   
> In this fic, I headcanon Fjord to be demi-biromantic asexual and Caduceus to be aromantic asexual, but since the fic only really explores the asexual part, I decided to leave that out of the tags.   
> Anyways, big thanks to jumanjiicostco, who is always super supportive and lovely, and to my fellow aspecs out there--I love y'all <3<3<3  
> Content warnings for heavy internalized acephobia and possible dubious consent (check the bottom notes for explanation, to avoid spoilers).  
> Title from "D&D + Asexuality" by Skull Puppies.

Fjord is twelve when he realizes the differences between him and the other kids at the orphanage may run deeper than the green hues of his skin and the tusks hidden beneath his lower lip. 

They’re out in the alleyway, shooed away from the house by their caretakers. Normally he’d find somewhere else to play, apart from the rest of the older kids, but Kyla, the only one who was nice to him, tugged him back when he tried to leave. He understood why when Bastian pulled out an empty glass bottle and placed it on the dirty ground.

It’s been nearly half an hour now, and by some pure stroke of luck, the bottle hasn’t landed on Fjord yet. He tries not to panic every time it gets close to him and breathes a sigh of relief every time it drifts past. Is that the point of this game? To try and avoid getting chosen? He’s not sure. It seems like everyone else is excited when the bottle lands on them, ready to lean in and kiss whoever spun it. Maybe it’s because most of them are jerks who steal his food and throw away his things, but the sight of them squishing their mouths against each other makes his stomach turn and his nose crinkle. 

He’s happy to just sit there and not kiss anyone, thanks.

Bastian spins and gets Gaelen, who gets Yari, who gets Kyla, who gets—

The bottle spins and spins and spins, a blur of grimy glass. As it slows, Fjord feels his chest get tighter and tighter, like someone is squeezing the life out of him.  _ Please, please don’t _ , he begs mentally, pleading with whoever is listening, but it doesn’t work. The bottle stops, pointed right at him, and now Kyla is smiling, looking at him expectedly. He can’t move, cheeks on fire and eyes wide with panic.

“Poor Kyla,” someone mutters.

“Come on, orc boy,” Bastian sneers. “We don’t have all day.”

Finally, he forces his limbs to move, crawling across the circle to meet Kyla halfway. She smiles nervously, tucking her hair behind her pointed elven ears, and then leans in. 

_ Let’s get this over with _ . He steels himself, and then leans in the rest of the way, giving her a quick peck on the lips.

It’s not as bad as Fjord expected it would be. But it’s not good, either. It’s just  _ nothing _ . 

“That was barely a kiss!” Gaelen protests as he quickly crawls back to his spot, unable to look Kyla in the eye after that. 

“It’s fine, let’s just keep going,” Bastian says with a roll of his eyes, but luckily before Fjord has to spin the bottle again, one of the caretakers, Harlina, sticks her head out of the orphanage doorway, eyes narrowing when she spots them. 

“Oi, what the hell are you hooligans doing out here! I told you to—“

Later that night, when they’re all laying in bed and supposedly sleeping, Fjord stares at the ceiling and wonders what’s wrong with him. There has to be something, right? Unless it was weird for everyone else too, and they were just pretending it wasn’t. That could be it, especially if they were doing it just to mess with him. They’re probably not old enough to actually enjoy that kind of stuff.

That’s it, he tells himself. He’s just not old enough. He’ll grow out of this eventually.

* * *

Thirteen comes. Then fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Nothing changes.

Well, not nothing. He gets taller, less stocky. His baby fat melts away, and the part time job he gets moving packages at the docks gives him lean, defined muscles. Most of the judgemental, suspicious side glances he used to get turn into lingering gazes that look over him with approval. 

It’s more than physical. Fjord also learns how to use his silver tongue—learns that the right words, the right facial expressions, the right tone of voice, all help him keep up the illusion that he belongs. And it works. Some of the other kids never stop being assholes—Bastian, in particular—but for the most part, they leave him alone now. 

What doesn’t change are his, uh,  _ feelings _ towards others. 

It doesn’t gross him out as much as it did when he was younger, but he can’t help the way his stomach twists a bit when he thinks about touching and being touched. A simple hug or holding hands is no problem, but anything further is too much. 

And the worst thing is, Fjord just doesn’t get it. Someone will mention making out with someone else, or how hot the baker down the street is, and he’ll laugh and nod and joke like he’s supposed to, but none of it means anything to him. Sure, people are pretty—that doesn’t make him want to do stuff to them.

Still, he plays along. It’s taken him far too long already to get even a shred of acceptance, and he won’t throw it away over his own weirdness. So every day he smiles and he flirts and he deflects anyone who wants to go further, and every night he prays to whoever is listening that he’ll wake up different.

* * *

He’s twenty three when Vandran runs into him on the docks and, after a brief conversation, hires him as a deckhand.

For the first time, Fjord begins to feel like he’s found somewhere he belongs. Working among the crew feels natural—the grins and slaps on the back and banter are genuine expressions of real friendship, and they welcome him into the fold with open arms. Every time the ocean breeze tousles his hair, he feels a little bit more at home.

And yet, it’s still there. This invisible wall that stands between him and them, that feeds the part of his brain that’s convinced he’ll always be alone. Sometimes he can ignore it, but it creeps up on him whenever they’re on land, drinking in some tavern, flirting with the locals and sharing stories of past trysts. He laughs when he’s supposed to and drinks just enough, but inside it gnaws at him.

It doesn’t take long for someone else to notice.

Three months in, they’re all sitting in a run-down place south of Port Damali, coin bags heavy from their last delivery and steadily getting lighter. Despite the rotting wood and shitty alcohol, the tavern is packed, merchants and sailors from all over drinking and dancing like it’s a party. Several of the crew have abandoned their tables already, waving as they exit with their chosen partners for the night. 

The navigator, Jen, is halfway through recounting the time they nearly lost an eye to a harpy when Kendra leans over to him. She’s a dwarven woman with a shock of white hair, but she’s only ten years his senior. (She swears up and down the hair color is a blessing from some god, but Fjord thinks it’s the result of a fucked up experiment, if the constant chemical holes in her leathers are any indication.) The mischievous grin on her face makes him a bit nervous, even more so when she says, “Hey, Fjord. You gonna make a move on that barmaid, or what?”

He can’t help wincing. Anytime they’ve called for more drinks, the same human woman has come to fill them, and it’s been impossible not to notice the way she blushes and smiles when she gets to his. He’d just sort of hoped that if he ignored it, everyone else would too. “Uh…”

“Shit, man, she’s totally into you. And if you’re not gonna go for it, I just might. Unless…” Her eyes narrow, and she studies him for a moment before a realization flashes across her face. “You’re not—my gods, you  _ are _ . Oh, Fjord, that’s fucking adorable. Not with anyone?”

“Um—I mean—“ Of all the times his charm could fail him, of course it’s now. He stutters out a few more words, cheeks as hot as the sun, before finally giving up, shaking his head as he stares at his drink.

“Surprise, surprise,” Sabien mutters. Kendra shoos him off, attention still unfortunately on Fjord.

“Well, that changes now. You, my friend,” she chugs what’s left of her drink before slamming it on the table, “are getting laid.  _ Tonight _ . We need more to drink over here!”

“Wait,” he tries to protest, but it’s too late. The woman sees Kendra and grins, swaying over to the table with the large jug hanging from her hand. Fjord ducks his head as she approaches, trying to quell the storm in his stomach.

“Need a refill?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He watches from the corner of his eye as she raises her mug up and, while the woman pours, grins at him. “And my friend here, too. But I think he might need something...stronger, if you know what I mean.”

The woman glances over at him, surprise flashing in her eyes before she leans over the table, gently taking his mug from him. “Well, if your friend really needs that, let him know my shift is over in ten minutes. And my room is the second on the left.” Once the mug is full, she winks, leaving without another word. 

“I could’ve used a refill too.” Sabien frowns, gesturing with his cup, but Kendra just laughs.

“Did you hear that, Fjord? You didn’t even have to say a word!” Alcohol splashes on the table as she bumps her drink against his. “Second room on the left, buddy. Gods, I bet...hey, are you okay? Fjord?”

His heartbeat is practically pounding in his ears, panic coursing through his veins. Can he really do this? The messy knot he calls his stomach says no, but that woman is expecting him to and Kendra is expecting him to, and how is he supposed to be  _ normal _ if he can’t even—

“Hey, calm down, man. First times are always weird and awkward, but you don’t need to freak out about it. Just think, this place is a total shithole, so she’s probably happy you smell like normal fish and not rotting fish, y’know?” Humor turns to concern, and she frowns. “If you really don’t want to—”

“No,” he interrupts on instinct, his body speaking before his mind even has time to think. “No, I want to.” He doesn’t. Not really. But he has to, right? And maybe, maybe this is what he’s been looking for. If he just tries it, maybe he’ll want it. This could be the opportunity he needs to bring that wall down.

Before he can change his mind, Fjord stands from the table, downing the rest of his drink with a new determination. Kendra gives a little whoop as he weaves through the crowds, making his way toward the hallway of rooms, and ducks into the second one on the left.

Afterwards, he does not linger. He puts his clothes back on and makes his escape, not even bothering to look for the others in the still crowded bar before heading out into the fresh night air. What starts as a walk turns into a run, until he finally reaches the beach, until the salt tinged breeze finally fills his lungs, and he feels like he can breathe again. It’s there that Fjord sits, knees curled to chest.

It was fine. Fantastic, even. He feels great. He does not want to scrub his skin raw, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat if someone attractive came along.

Maybe if he thinks it all enough, it’ll be true. 

* * *

After that, if anyone asks, he makes something up—an excuse or a lie, doesn’t matter. Anything that keeps the attention away from him. Anything that allows him to keep up the appearance of belonging.

* * *

Then the shipwreck and everything else happens, and suddenly he is thrust into a new group of people, people he’s not sure he can trust but for some reason feel right. Like they’re all misshaped puzzle pieces that got thrown into the wrong sets, and now they’ve been put back together again.

That feeling, that invisible wall, doesn’t disappear, at least not completely. But with every piece of them that he discovers, Fjord begins to feel like maybe it doesn't matter as much. They’re all fucking weirdos, with strange powers and colorful skin tones and probably some sort of group death wish.

Sometimes it’s awkward, when Jester brings up sex, or Beau starts flirting, or Caleb comes back from shopping with a bag full of fancy smut. Even then, though, it’s okay. They don’t pry and prod like others in the past have done, and when he laughs it off, it’s not forced. 

For the first time in his entire life, Fjord no longer feels like something that needs to be fixed.

* * *

And then there’s Avantika.

It’s not that bad this time, or so he tells himself. At least this time, it’s not about him—it’s about them. He dragged his friends into this; it’s his responsibility to get them out. If that means making himself a little uncomfortable, then so be it. And if he feels—wrong, after, if he feels like maybe his skin is out of place, if he feels like slamming that wall up and never bringing it back down again—that’s fine. That’s something he can handle.

_ Sleep well with your bad decisions. _

He tries to. He doesn’t.

* * *

Caduceus might be like him.

Really, looking back, it’s something that should have occurred to Fjord a lot earlier. It’s not like the other man even tries to hide his confusion about or disinterest in sexual things. Hell, Jester practically announced it to her mother. To be fair, though, he’s been a bit busy, all-powerful sea monsters and murderous pirates and all. 

They’re only a few days out from Nicodranas when he decides to broach the subject with him. The sun has long since gone down, and with the exception of Orly and a few other random crew members on watch, everyone’s gone to sleep. It’s perfect timing.

Even at night, Caduceus’ pink hair is a shock against the browns and blues of ocean life. It makes it easy to spot him at the rail, watching the water with a calm, serene look on his face. 

“Hey, Cad,” Fjord says quietly as he leans against the rail next to him. 

“What’s bothering you, Mister Fjord?” His head turns slowly, pink eyes looking him over with that almost unsettling perceptive gaze. 

And, well, there really isn’t a clever or smooth way to talk about this, is there? He takes a deep breath and then blurts out, “How do you feel about sex?”

Caduceus blinks in surprise, and he tries to ignore the little spark of excitement at finally managing to catch the guy off guard. For a few moments, he considers the question before answering. “Not much at all.”

“What does that mean? Do you... _ know _ about it?”

“It’s a pretty basic part of nature, so yeah.” His laughter is deep and rumbling but still soft. “I’ve thought about it, but it never really sounded pleasing to me. Just sort of...awkward, I guess.”

“Oh.” The thoughts in his brain spin like the wheel of the ship, nearly too fast for him to keep up with. It’s one thing to suspect and another to confirm. Caduceus—

—feels the same way he does. Is like him. Which means—

— _ he’s not alone _ . 

That wall, the thing that has stood between Fjord and everyone else his entire life, doesn’t fall, but it gives just a bit, just enough.

Caduceus waits, sipping at the ever present tea cup in his hand until Fjord processes enough to at least try and put words together. “I don’t—I mean—isn’t everyone supposed to…?”

“Not necessarily,” he says slowly, when it’s clear that Fjord doesn’t know how to finish that question. “You know, I’ve met quite a few people who’ve come to the graveyard and shared their stories. A few of them didn’t like romance. A few of them didn’t like sex. Some didn’t like either. It didn’t mean something was wrong with them. That’s just who they were.”

_ That’s just who they were. _

Something settles in Fjord’s chest, some sort of question that’s gone unanswered far too long, and things start to click into place. He’s not opposed to romance, at least not with the right person, but the rest...isn’t for him. That’s not wrong, that’s just him. And he’s not the only one. 

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Huh?” He comes out of his stupor to realize that the other man is still looking at him, a bit concerned, and that his own eyes are filling with tears. Hastily wiping them away, he says with a shaky laugh, “Yeah, yeah, I just...never knew that was an option. Thank you, Caduceus.”

A warm hand gently cups his shoulder and then pulls him in close, long arms wrapping around him. “You’re very welcome.”

Everything's not okay. The things that happened before, the guilt, the shame, they still weigh on him. It might be a long time before they don’t. But at least he knows now that he’s not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings:  
> There are two sections in this fic that could be interpreted as dubious consent. Basically, Fjord decides to have sex not because he wants to, but because he thinks he has to. Neither section is explicit, but if you want to avoid them, skip from "'Wait,' he tries to protest..." to "Maybe if he thinks it all enough, it’ll be true" and from "And then there's Avantika" to "He tries to. He doesn't."  
> Thank you so much for reading! Hopefully you enjoyed <3 Kudos/comments are greatly appreciated! Constructive criticism also welcome, just like. Don't be an asshole about it please, lmao.  
> You can find me on Tumblr @xhorass, my blog dedicated to Critical Role and all these chaotic dumbasses!


End file.
